


Gossamer

by crawlycrawlers



Series: Care & Guidance [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Begging, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Ectogenitals, Implied fontfest, Incest, M/M, Praise Kink, Sans is also a character, but he is there only in spirit, implied fontcest, it's basically just a hot pot of filth you get the idea, lowkey body worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7894090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crawlycrawlers/pseuds/crawlycrawlers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a kitchen, there's Gaster and Papyrus, and there is also a dress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gossamer

**Author's Note:**

> I hear you guys wanted a sequel for Care and Guidance. 
> 
> Well then. Here you go.
> 
> (I kid. An actual, proper sequel is coming. At some point. Hopefully.)
> 
> [Soul](http://archiveofourown.org/users/undertailsoulsex/pseuds/undertailsoulsex) was an absolute darling with her proofreading, I am in awe. Any and all remaining mistakes are mine.

  
  


"SANS SAYS HE'LL BE UP IN A MINUTE AND THAT WHATEVER WE’RE MAKING TODAY SMELLS REALLY AMAZI-” Papyrus halts at the kitchen doorway. ”FATHER, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

 

” Fixing this,” Gaster replies. He holds up a stray screw to scrutinize it under the light of the open windows, then puts it back down amongst the pile of the electric mixer components spread across the dining table and starts foraging for another. In Sans-speak, "in a minute" means there's plenty of time to not only finish putting the mixer back together, but also to showcase exactly how much better it now is at helping the cream reach its optimal state of colloidal suspension. The end result will be a flurry of snow-white fluffy peaks - nothing like the stiff, grainy sludge abandoned in its bowl next to the sink.

 

There's a shuffle of movement as Papyrus goes over to it. ”...OH. DID IT BREAK ALREADY? THAT SALESPERSON SPENT SUCH A LONG TIME EXPLAINING THOSE MIXERS ARE MEANT TO BE REUSABLE. HE WAS SO CONVINCED OF IT TOO…” There’s a clank of plastic against metal. “THE CREAM IS DONE! PERFECT! I'LL JUST PUT IT IN A CONTAINER, THEN, AND -”

 

” No, no, put that down, it's the alpha version.” He reaches for the screwdriver. Honestly. Why had nobody thought of incorporating a programmable timer feature before? Not his fault that the recipes instructions were so vague. It hadn’t even specified that over-whipping was a possibility.  ”Just a moment and I’ll be done – check up on the scones, will you?”

 

” STILL BAKING! TWELVE MINUTES LEFT ON THE TIMER!”

 

“Good.” He clicks the casing back in place and pushes his chair back. Time to give this thing a whirl.

 

And that’s when he finally looks up and notices.

 

After he’d finished wiping down the counters, Papyrus had capitalized on the downtime and dashed upstairs to both rouse Sans and to change out of his flour-dusted jogging gear - back into his regular clothes, Gaster had assumed. As it turns out that had not been the case.

 

Papyrus is wearing a sundress.

 

It's a short, cheerful, yellow little thing hemmed by rows of delicate lace: feather-light where it rests against Papyrus's ribcage, full and airy as it flares out into a full skirt that comes to a stop just in time to leave on display the last inch or so of his thighs - thighs faithfully covered by dark, sheer hosiery that licks close to every last contour of his bones.

 

Papyrus is beaming at him. ”WHAT DO YOU THINK, FATHER?”

 

Sans has a tendency to wolf-whistle at Papyrus. Gaster understands the urge, but this is the first time he feels in danger to succumbing to it. The way the dress outlines Papyrus’s iliac crests... the way it makes a display out of the upper half of his sternum....

 

It takes a few false starts to get his voice working."That is… very nice . What’s the occasion?"

 

” I WAS THINKING DURING MY JOG - IT’S SUCH A NICE DAY OUT, WE COULD HAVE A PICNIC! IT’D BE FUN! DON’T YOU THINK?”

 

A sunny mid-morning spent enjoying delicious food together with his boys - having Sans lay down on the grass and insist  his brother feed him, watching Papyrus huff and puff yet inevitably comply - Gaster thinks it’s not just a good but an  _ excellent _ idea. 

 

He also thinks the way the hem's swishing draws attention to Papyrus's femurs is outright indecent. He clears his throat. 

 

”Well, it’d be good a day as any, but... how does that relate to the... outfit?”

 

"AH, THAT!” Papyrus begins. ”YOU SEE, I HAVE ENCOUNTERED VARIOUS ELABORATE PAINTINGS DEPICTING PROPER HUMAN ATTIRE FOR THEIR LAWN-ORIENTED EATING ENGAGEMENTS –" The excess fabric around his waist is gathered together by a neat white bow; Papyrus picks at it until it sticks out just so. "– AND I WANTED TO TRY IT OUT FOR MYSELF! SADLY, I DO NOT POSSESS THE PROPER EQUIPMENT TO TRULY PERFECT THE LOOK - I WOULD'VE BORROWED SANS'S FROG UMBRELLA IN PLACE OF A 'PARASOL', BUT I'M AFRAID TRYING TO REMOVE IT WOULD GREATLY DISTURB THE TRASH TORNADO’S ECOSYSTEM."

 

"Is that so," Gaster manages. Is it just his imagination or is the entire damn dress bordering on  _ sheer _ ?

 

"I'M NOT SURE WHAT PURPOSE THOSE SERVE ANYWAY SO IT'S NOT A MAJOR SETBACK," Papyrus continues. ”BUT! DOESN’T IT LOOK GREAT REGARDLESS?” He smoothes down the skirt, adjusts the bow again. ”...DO YOU THINK SANS WILL LIKE IT?”

 

” I...” Gaster trails off. He raises a hand in the air, draws out a small circle. "Twirl around for me, would you?"

 

Papyrus jumps to it.

 

Just as Gaster had expected, it's less a leisurely turnaround and more a pirouette: the skirt rises up, up, to reveal first more dark nylon, then bare, smooth bone in an inch-by-inch tease that has his half-lidded gaze fixated. Sunlight filters through the lace to cast a soft-edged whirl of shadow on the sliver of ivory white, and he tracks every last detail of the trail it paints for him.

 

As Papyrus slows down the skirt falls to once more curtain the view. Gaster leans back in his chair. Sweet stars above. It’s not hosiery - they’re stockings, with a full trim of lace and all. Easy access, as his eldest would call it.

 

For a long moment he toys with the idea of asking for another twirl, but...

 

” SO! WHAT DO YOU THINK?”

 

...There are other, better, things to be done.

 

"Come here, Papyrus."

 

Papyrus trots over to stand before his chair. Gaster pushes the mixer and the various tools aside and gives him one more lingering once-over before reaching out.

 

The fabric is thin and light, cool to the touch, gliding easy as water against the bone as he rubs it between his fingertips. 

 

“This is very high-quality silk," he says. "Must've cost quite a bit...where did you get this?"

 

"I ACCOMPANIED UNDYNE AND DR ALPHYS ON A 'SHOPPING SPREE'! THEY BOTH AGREED IT'S JUST MY COLOR AND THAT I SHOULD GET IT," Papyrus begins. "BUT TO BE HONEST I THINK UNDYNE MOSTLY SAID THAT BECAUSE DR. ALPHYS WAS SO… STRANGELY ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT ME TRYING IT ON." 

 

He falters for a moment, and Gaster doesn't wonder why. From what he's seen of Asgore's former Captain of the Royal Guard, she doesn't particularly strike him as the dress-wearing type. As for the new Royal Scientist… he’s seen all kinds of things from the Void, some of which he’d prefer not to think about too much. 

 

"THEN AGAIN, UNDYNE HAS TOLD ME YELLOW IS HER FAVORITE COLOR... AND THAT I'M HER FAVORITE SKELETON! SO SHE MUST'VE BEEN SUPPRESSING HER RESPONSE SO AS NOT TO GET US ESCORTED OUT AGAIN."

 

During Papyrus's explanation, Gaster has been sliding his hands down south, and by the time Papyrus finishes with a happy "nyeh heh heh", he's rubbing gentle circles into his hips.

 

It gets him quite a delightful little sound.

 

“I’m sure Sans will love it.” An understatement, if there’s ever been one. Sans will probably insist on picking up extra shifts in order to fund an entire collection. “But...are you certain about wearing it to the park? It’d be such a shame to get grass stains on it…” 

 

“DON’T WORRY! I AM A VIRTUOSO OF ALL THINGS LAUNDRY-RELATED! SANS IS ALWAYS LEAVING ALL KINDS OF STAINS,” Papyrus confides, “SO I’VE BECOME VERY GOOD AT GETTING THEM OFF!”

 

“Silk has to be hand-washed,” Gaster points out. He’s letting his hands slide lower still, feeling his way down Papyrus’s femurs.“You’d have to spend quite some time rubbing…”

 

“I DON’T MIND!” He frowns. “BUT FATHER, YOU CAN’T RUB SILK! THAT’D JUST SET THE STAIN. YOU HAVE TO BE GENTLE! BUT VERY THOROUGH.”

 

“Ah, of course. It is very important to know when to take your time in order to get the best result.”

 

After what feels like an eternity Gaster finally gets to the lace that marks the dresses end. He looks up, catches his son’s eye. There’s a healthy flush glowing across Papyrus’s cheeks. His teeth have parted in anticipation.

 

“You really went the full mile, didn’t you?” He pauses. “Mind if I take a look at the stockings, too?”

 

“O-OF COURSE NOT!” Papyrus says. His voice is hitching. “GO AHEAD!”

 

So Gaster does. He moves his hands to the insides of Papyrus’s thighs - his eyes still riveted on his son’s - then slowly, slowly, drags them upwards, underneath the skirt.

 

It takes visible effort for Papyrus to stay still but he does, admirably so. Gaster rubs his thumbs against the bone. Smiles. His boy is being so obedient, so good… he deserves a reward.

 

And what better reward than to keep going?

 

Compared to the smoothness of the dress, the stockings - as fleetingly thin as they are - feel almost rough. He has so many questions about them. How long has Papyrus had them, _ why _ does he have them, and most importantly…

 

"How are these staying up?" There is no garter belt, he’s already checked. Quite thoroughly, at that. 

 

"DOUBLE-SIDED TAPE!" Papyrus beams. "I HAVE SO MUCH EXTRA, NOW THAT I'M NO LONGER RESPONSIBLE FOR MAINTAINING SNOWDIN'S DEFENSIVE PUZZLES!”

 

Gaster has stilled for the explanation, his hands cupped around the rounded ends of Papyrus’s femurs. “Trying to remove the tape will ruin the stockings,” he says mildly.

 

“....OH.” Papyrus wilts. “BUT MAYBE, IF I THOROUGHLY SOAK THEM WITH ACETONE FIRST…? THOUGH SURELY THEY WOULD IGNITE THANKS TO MY VEXATIOUSLY HOT BODY...”

 

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you new ones. As many as you want.”

 

“REALLY? DR. ALPHYS SENT ME A PICTURE OF THESE STOCKINGS WITH SKULLS ON THEM, AND -”

 

“ _ Anything _ you want.”

 

As he speaks, Gaster’s fingers have trailed inward, towards the pubis - and, oh.

 

"...what's this, now?"

 

Papyrus won't meet his eye. He's too busy blushing.

 

And Gaster….. Gaster himself needs to take a moment. A bead of sweat trickles beneath the neck of his sweater. 

 

His beautiful little boy has gone all the way and slipped on a pair of silken panties. 

 

Tentatively, he touches them again. Wonders what color they are. Demure white, to blend against equally pristine, smooth pelvis? Maybe a delicate shade of yellow, to compliment the dress itself; his boy does, after all, share his keen eye for detail - if the panties match, they’d match exactly. And that particular shade of yellow does look so very enchanting on him... 

 

Gaster swallows.

 

He’d only have to - get up, and push Papyrus down against the table and pull the dress up --

 

He takes a deep breath. Forces the urge back down. Grounds himself by focusing on ghosting his fingers over the satin. 

 

"So where did you get these, then? Don't tell me Undyne and Alphys...?"

 

"AH.. UM - I..." Papyrus tries to avoid his gaze again. "...SANS GAVE THEM TO ME...?"

 

Oh. Of course. Gaster has always thought of Sans as exceptionally bright and intelligent. It is always nice to be proven right about that, no matter how often it happens. 

 

He explores his way along the warmed fabric until he gets to the hard edge of Papyrus’s sacrum, then switches to teasing it: leisurely mapping out each little crest and dip until at last he slots a fingertip into the sacral hiatus and presses down. The moment he does, Papyrus’s thighs try to squeeze together around his hand. 

 

“Your brother is a very smart boy. And you… with such a naughty little secret, hidden underneath...  did he ask you to give him a peek?” 

 

He digs the heel of his palm up into the swollen magic. At once Papyrus is trying to grind against it, and Gaster pulls back. Papyrus keeps whining. Such a greedy little thing. 

 

“Did he ask you to spread your legs and show off your pretty little cunt?”

 

Papyrus squawks. "NO!” His breathing has gone ragged, erratic. “NOT - NOT YET… HE SAID I SHOULD S-SHOW HIM AND - NGH! - YOU BOTH AT THE SAME T-TIME… B-BECAUSE HE GOT ME SOMETHING E-ELSE TOO, BUT HE WOULDN’T S-SAY WHAT..."

 

Gaster thinks he might have an educated guess or two. He also retracts his previous thought: Sans is not just bright but brilliant. Genius. Papyrus should definitely do that. And Sans should, too. It’s been much too long since he last saw his boys playing with toys. 

 

...Later, though. Right now Papyrus is exactly where he belongs, doing exactly what he should: helplessly surrendering to his father’s touches, desperate for Gaster to grant mercy and pull him down to his lap and fill him up and fuck him raw--

 

The oven timer rings out.

 

Gaster’s hand jerks up - the heel of his palm bumps back into damp fabric, much more forcefully than before.

 

Papyrus’s knees buckle. “AH! F-FATHER...” 

 

“You like that?” 

 

He rubs harder, drawing back until it’s his fingers fondling and massaging, turning the fabric into a sodden mess -  

 

“THE SCONES!” Papyrus is writhing in place. “THEY -”

 

“Can wait.”

 

“I’LL FORGET TO-”

 

“Oh yes, you will -”

 

“DAD, PLEASE! IT’LL ONLY TAKE A SECOND -” 

 

Yet Papyrus stays - maybe because of the hand Gaster’s clamped over his hip to keep him there while the other is busy between Papyrus’s legs.

 

“I DON’T WANT THEM TO - AH - END UP RUINED -”

 

“I’ll have  _ you _ ruined -” 

 

Gods, would the panties be ruined if he pulled them off and took them and pushed them into Papyrus’s mouth and had him atop the kitchen table until Sans came to check up on the noise and then let Sans have him too -

 

“S-SANS WOULD BE SO DISAPPOINTED!”

 

“He would  _ not _ .”

 

“BUT HE SAID HE’S LOOKING FORWARD TO IT!”

 

Gaster blinks. Sans is - what? Then his mind catches up. Oh right. For some reason Papyrus is still rattling on about the scones.

 

“Sans would just swing by Grillby’s, he’s always looking for an excuse anyway.” He drags a line along the slit. The puffy folds part for him easily: so ready and wet, even through the panties…  In the background, Papyrus is still griping about Sans’s many food runs. Time to give him something better to think about. “I’d use that time to fuck your sweet little pussy so hard you wouldn’t even have the mind to miss him -”

 

Papyrus goes stiff. His knees lock up, his hips tilt: Gaster is pretty sure even his soul stops its pulsing for a moment. “FATHER! THAT’S LEWD!” The words come out very, very high-pitched.

 

“The way you’re flaunting yourself with that dress is lewd, Papyrus,” Gaster says. “Consider this a lesson in consequence -”

 

There’s a moment of hesitation - his boy is so, so tempted. But as always, the sense of responsibility wins out. Papyrus huffs. “ _ FATHER _ . I’M SERIOUS.”

 

“Hey Serious, I’m -”

 

“DO _ NOT _ .” 

 

Gaster sighs and withdraws his hand. He could push, still - and he’d wager Papyrus would be persuaded, sooner rather than later - but it wouldn’t be worth the upset his son would feel afterwards, seeing all that work gone to waste. 

 

He pats Papyrus’s hip, then scoots back and raises his hands in the air. “Alright, alright, go take care of the scones. But don’t take too long -” His left hand drops to his fly. “- because I have something waiting for you.”

 

“DAD, PLEASE STOP WITH THE AWFUL JOKES. SANS IS MORE THAN ENOUGH.”

 

“How interesting, that,” Gaster hums. “I do recall you saying something rather to the contrary last night...”

 

Rather than to dignify him with a response, Papyrus chooses to stomp off to fetch the oven mittens. 

 

Gaster watches him go. He has to admit there really is something to Sans’s habit of teasing his brother. A huffy Papyrus is a very lively, enchanting one. 

 

...And it is very well possible that using blue magic to flip up the back of the dress while he’s bent over to tend to the oven is an awfully cheap, juvenile thing to do. Gaster can’t bring himself to care, not even when Papyrus yelps and almost drops the baking sheet. Chalk it up to proof that some of Sans’s more controversial character traits are likely genetic in nature.

 

The panties, as it turns out, are actually blue.

 

Cyan blue, at that, a shade startlingly similar to Sans’s magic. Gaster snorts. How very subtle. 

 

He wonders how easy it would be to find elegant purple lingerie. Is it a popular color among humans...?

 

“THEY’RE A BIT CHARRED AROUND THE EDGES,” Papyrus announces from where he’s been intently studying the scones.

 

“Sans won’t mind.”

 

“HE  _ SHOULD _ . I WISH HE’D LEARN TO APPRECIATE THE VAST DIFFERENCE IN QUALITY BETWEEN GRILLBY’S AND SOMETHING PROPERLY HOME-COOKED -”

 

“Technically speaking, Grillby’s _would_ also fit the definition of home-cooked, seeing as how he does live in the building.”

 

The reasoning earns him an annoyed look. “YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.”

 

“Yes, I do,” Gaster agrees. “Just as well that I  know we were in the middle of something important.” He pats his knee. “C’mere.”

 

His invitation goes ignored. “I DON’T EVEN GET WHAT HE SEES IN ALL THAT GREASE… SO UNHEALTHY…”

 

“Papyrus.”

 

“ALSO, I WAS THINKING,” there are furtive glances snuck in his direction, “MAYBE I SHOULD GO CHANGE BACK FOR NOW. WE’RE STILL NOT DONE, AND IT’D BE SADDENING TO RUIN THIS DRESS BEFORE WE EVEN LEAVE…”

 

“I’ll do the rest, if you’re worried about that.” He watches, narrow-eyed, as Papyrus fiddles with the oven mittens, tries to fit them perfectly on top of each other. “Now come back here and sit down on your father’s lap.”

 

From the start it hasn’t been a request but this - this is a direct order.

 

The visible shiver running over Papyrus’s spine says he knows that too, and yet he - with a devious little twinkle for which Gaster will have him over his knee, one of these days - peeks at him over his shoulder and tries to demur. “BUT YOU SAID IT’S A DELICATE FABRIC. I WOULDN’T WANT TO RISK GETTING SOMETHING ON IT...”

 

“None of… anything… is getting onto the dress _. _ ” The panties, on the other hand, are at a very high risk. 

 

“YOU NEVER EVEN TOLD ME IF YOU LIKE HOW IT LOOKS. I SUPPOSE I SHOULD GO ASK SANS INSTEAD…”

 

“Papyrus. Obey your father.” 

 

Another shiver. “I’M SURE  _ HE _ WOULD BE WILLING TO TELL ME.”

 

_ “Right now _ .”

 

In the grasp of his blue magic Papyrus’s soul flutters eagerly, brushing against him like a butterfly caged between cupped palms. He tugs the soul to him - and later on he can’t say how much of it is him pulling, how much Papyrus himself moving, but together it’s a rushing tide to the moon. He reaches out to grab Papyrus, to haul him down to his lap, shifting and arranging until Papyrus sits astride with his back flush to Gaster’s chest, and the dress is smoothed down into a prim shroud over his thighs. 

 

"You wish to know what I think? Is that it?”

 

“WELL, YOU WOULDN’T REALLY SAY ANYTHING BEFORE…”

 

“The dress is gorgeous.  _ You’re _ gorgeous.” He loops his arms around Papyrus’s chest and waist and hugs him close. “How could you be anything else? I made you both to be perfect.”

 

“FATHER…”

 

“You doubt me, Papyrus?”

 

“...OF COURSE NOT! SANS IS VERY EASY TO LOVE, AND I SUPPOSE PEOPLE DO CALL ME VERY GREAT.”

 

“Great, and smart, and handsome, and so very clever and kind,” Gaster agrees. “And so obedient and good…” 

 

Through the thin silk it’s easy to feel each and every little contour of Papyrus's chest; the way it rises and falls as his breathing picks up. Gaster takes his time, smoothing his hands up and down along the sides. Beneath the silk, beneath the bone and the ribs’ hollow cage, Papyrus’s magic thrums.

 

“Truly exquisite.”

 

He takes his time, sitting there with warm sunlight at his back and his darling boy a tender weight cradled against his chest. His hands wander all over Papyrus's ribs, his spine and hips,then back to the bottom of his ribcage and upward to track the sternum: an odyssey of gentle touches that leaves Papyrus quivering in anticipation. Through the open windows comes distant birdsong, the hum of faraway traffic. All of it is mere background to the rustle of fabric and Papyrus's quiet moans.

 

"NGH... PLEASE..."

 

Gaster leans in to nibble his way up along the delicate crests at the back of Papyrus's neck. Such a sensitive little thing, he thinks, every little noise and reaction just as candid as they were the first time around. And despite Papyrus’s tendency - even preference - towards playing coy, there’s no actual shame involved: his boy is like warm, pliant honey pushing back into him.

 

With a hum of appreciation, he closes his eyes and goes back to tracing his way up to the corner of Papyrus's jaw.

 

"Mm... “ Papyrus smells like clean, fresh bone, and…. oranges? “Have you been experimenting with facial treatments again?”

 

"OH, NO WAY! THE ONE TIME WITH THE LIMES WAS MORE THAN ENOUGH!”  Papyrus says. “IF YOU MEAN THE FRAGRANCE, THAT WOULD BE THE MTT PRODUCT SAMPLE DR. ALPHYS GIFTED ME. STRAIGHT FROM METTATON HIMSELF, SHE SAID! A BRAND NEW ADDITION TO THE MTT GLIMMER'N'GLAMOUR PRODUCT FAMILY, THE IMPROVED LIMITED SPECIAL EDITION OF THE BISHIE CREAM - THE MOE FROTH!" Papyrus preens. "THE PACKAGE SAYS IT INCLUDES POWDERED SEQUINS.” 

 

Gaster blinks. True enough, now that he's close enough to really look for it, it's easy to spot the miniscule bits of silver sparkling along Papyrus's cheekbones; catching sunlight at every turn. He... stares for a moment, then quietly resigns to the fact that by the end of this, there will be a semi-permanent coating of glitter over his tongue, and Sans, when he at last deigns to join them, will die laughing.

 

"It suits you."

 

"THANK YOU! THE PACKAGE ALSO SAID TO AVOID ANY LOCATIONS WITH A POTENTIAL PIRANHA PRESENCE, THOUGH. DO YOU THINK THE PARK MIGHT -"

 

Gaster cuts him off by licking along the ridge of Papyrus's cheek.

 

"Tastes good, too..."

 

His hands go back to the skirt and slip under, seeking their way across, over, and down between Papyrus’s legs, back to the welcoming heat.

 

He kneads his phalanges against it, delights in the smooth slide of fabric over supple magic. 

 

"FATHER...!"

 

"Feel good?"

 

"Y-YES..."

 

Staying like this, teasing Papyrus through his panties until he's crying out and falling apart and begging for it - the thought is a temptation, but the insistent grind of tailbone against his groin... to hell with his earlier promises; he's unbearably close to simply grabbing and rutting up against Papyrus until the back of the dress is dripping with his come. 

 

He’s so close.

 

"Want your daddy to take care of you, Papyrus?"

 

"PLEASE..."

 

It takes some maneuvering to lift Papyrus up and keep him there long enough for him to unfasten his pants. Even the hasty fumbling sends near painful jolts through his cock - the low ache from the beginning has built into an all-consuming pressure. Its formed slightly bigger than usual - thanks to all the teasing, he assumes, and thinks: good. Let it be payback for his boy, let it breach into that flush tightness and make it tighter still, let his darling go speechless at the unexpected width.

 

But not quite yet. Gaster shifts his grip on Papyrus's hips to steady him.

 

“Ready to have your pussy filled?”

 

For all his willingness, Papyrus still possesses odd hangups over what he calls "crass vulgarities". Gaster’s had to chastise Sans more than once for needlessly riling his brother up in the middle of sex - but upon reflecting on the way a sudden tremor runs through Papyrus's body, from the way he twitches, Gaster is forced to reconsider his stance.

 

That was not a twitch of indignation.

 

That was Papyrus's magic spiking in arousal.

 

"You want your daddy's cock inside you, don't you, Papyrus?"

 

“NGH…” Papyrus wriggles in place. “YES...”

 

He hooks his fingers under the panties’ edge and pulls them aside, carefully aligns Papyrus until the head of his cock is nudging against slippery folds. Then he stops.

 

"Say it."

 

"I D-DO!"

 

" _ Say it. _ "

 

"I - AH - WANT --.." Papyrus's voice hitches and he's squirming, desperately trying to sink down on it, but Gaster keeps him in place. "-- W-WANT DADDY'S C-COCK INSIDE ME..."

 

“Good boy.”

 

He only needs to let go.

 

Papyrus takes him in one fell swoop - so slick and ready and aching for it he plunges right down on instinct and Gaster’s bottoming out and engulfed in tight, pulsating heat. "Stars, Papyrus," he groans, his forehead pressed between Papyrus's shoulder blades. “So good…”

 

This will never feel any less amazing. Papyrus's exemplary magical skill shows not just in his bullet patterns or his at-will damage output, but also in how he always molds and casts around him in a perfect, maddening vice determined to squeeze him dry.

 

"You're so tight for me, every time -”

 

"IT’S - NGH - SO BIG - I D-DIDN’T EXPECT -"

 

"I didn't know it back then but you were just made for this, weren't you? You love it so much, take my cock so well - look at you, tightening up like that..."

 

Papyrus's mouth has fallen open. He's perched astride over his thighs; one hand flat against Gaster's leg for balance, the other brought up to his face - he’s about to bite into his phalanges, to muffle his cries. 

 

That won't do. 

 

Gaster encloses the hand in his own and brings it down, through the dress’s rucked-up skirt, until he can press Papyrus's phalanges flush to his mound. As he does so, both their fingers accidentally skim the point where Gaster's cock sinks into Papyrus's eager body.

 

"AH! FATHER! THAT’S -”

 

"Just like that, Papyrus, let me guide you," he murmurs, all the while directing Papyrus's touches. "See how good it feels to touch yourself?" 

 

The way Papyrus's breath hitches tells him a heavier touch would be more than welcome, and he concurs. The fingers are so pliant under his, letting him move them as he wishes. He steers Papyrus’s first and middle finger to play around the edges of his swollen clit, shows him how to tease it just so. 

 

"Mm, if you only knew how you keep clenching around me as you do that. You're so desperate for it, aren't you…?"

 

Papyrus’s hips move in an agonized rhythm in tune to his touches. "IT'S SO GOOD... PLEASE MOVE MORE... I-I NEED IT DEEPER..."

 

"Such a little minx - you knew exactly what that dress would do to me -”

 

“I - HNGH - I HOPED!”

 

“- and you wore it because you wanted a good fucking -"

 

“PLEASE!”

 

As a test, Gaster lets go of Papyrus's hand. It remains there, rubbing and teasing over the clit - and oh, the thought of his pretty little boy taking his cock and masturbating to it, the picture they must make, Papyrus with his legs spread, panties pushed aside, seated on his cock with the dress all bunched up around his waist. He wishes there was a mirror, so he could see it in full.

 

"You're so beautiful, Papyrus, such a good boy, you know just how to make your daddy feel amazing -- " His voice is low, rough; dragged raw from his throat. " -- rubbing your pussy as your daddy fucks you, you're so needy for it, aren't you -"

 

Papyrus rocks in place; desperate tight gyrating - back and forth, back and forth, still steadying himself with one hand while the other works sloppily between his legs. He's trembling all over, all his words turned into incoherent whimpering.

 

"You'd love for your brother to be here too, wouldn't you? Oh, I know he'd love that, to watch his cute, sweet baby brother riding a big cock, all prettied up for it -"

 

“Y-YES -!”

 

“We should have him film it and watch it together - I’d have Sans fuck you - have you bent over and taken from behind while I let your mouth worship my cock -” 

 

The rest is a blur. 

 

He keeps talking to Papyrus - sharing with him all the filthy things consuming the back of his mind, the ideas and plans and fantasies He murmurs praise and curses and gasps into Papyrus’s neck, at the corner of his mouth and behind the hollow of his jaw until Papyrus throws his head back, crying out and shuddering. His magic throbs, palpitates, and sucks him right up; then Gaster is groaning, too, and his entire body is trembling.

 

Gods.

 

Everything in him feels as if blanketed by static; a faint, distant prickling rushes up and down his arms, his legs. 

 

Papyrus has gone lax. His legs are still quivering, his hands stilled. Gaster, too, is trying his best to collect himself, to slow his breathing back down. He has no intention of pulling out yet: there's still the little aftershocks of Papyrus's walls fluttering down around him to savor. He drapes his hands over Papyrus’s hips, rests his forehead against his shoulder blade and breathes in deep.

 

Of course, this being Papyrus, he's all too soon wriggling around until he's shifted sideways and able to throw his arms around Gaster's neck to nuzzle against the side of his skull. As always, the nuzzles soon turn into light kisses, then to Papyrus closing his eyes and stretching to offer up the vulnerable underside of his jaw.

 

Gaster traces along it with his mouth and laughs, voice low. "Stop tempting me, we do not have the time for more. Your brother will be up any second."

 

Papyrus tilts his head to blink down at him. "SANS COULD JOIN US..."

 

...let no-one claim his boy incapable of underhandedness. Gaster knows Papyrus, and he knows Sans, and best of all he knows that if Sans gets down here in time to witness this, it'll take half a day before any of them makes it out of the kitchen.

 

"Papyrus, stop trying to rile me up or my magic will never settle."

 

” BUT YOU SAID BROTHER WOULD LIKE TO WATCH...”

 

” _ Papyrus. _ ”

 

A familiar thump sounds from upstairs. Sans has finally crawled close enough to the edge of his bed to fall off. It won't be long now until he's going to be up for real.

 

Gaster shifts in his seat. There’s a wet, squishy sound as he does. A trickle of come spills out, he can feel it trailing down to seep into his pants. The magic between them will dissipate soon enough, but unless wiped down it'll leave a glaze. A faint, barely noticeable one, granted, yet obvious if you knew what to look for, and by now all three of them have become quite the experts at spotting any potential traces. 

 

Papyrus, too, has heard the squelch. He makes a face.

 

"UGH, IT'S ALL MESSY." He’s glancing down, looking very put-upon. "I'LL HAVE TO GO WASH IT OFF BEFORE SANS GETS DOWN."

 

That would probably be the wisest course of action, but...

 

"No," he says. Papyrus might think he’s forgotten the way he’d acted before, but oh, his son would be wrong about that. Gaster tightens his hold. "Leave it. Let Sans lick it up for dessert."

 

Papyrus freezes.

 

Slowly, he turns towards Gaster with an absolutely scandalized look on his face - and then he's blushing all the way to the top of his skull.

 

"FATHER!"

 

"Mm, yes. You said you wanted Sans’s opinion, didn’t you? I'm sure he'd love to dive right under to properly inspect it... maybe even right there at the park -"

 

"THAT IS SO CRUDE! AND GROSS! AND UNHYGIENIC! AND -!"

 

The rests of the protests, Gaster muffles out with a thorough kiss.

 

*

 

By the time Sans finally wanders into the kitchen to blink blearily at the two of them, the whole issue has been forgotten.

 

Or so Papyrus thinks.

  
  
  
  



End file.
